Last night, during another spur-of-the-moment decisions, I finally made up my mind to (once and for all) ditch Facebook. I requested an archive before I went to bed, and promptly downloaded said archive first thing this morning. Then I dragged that son-bitch off my computer and onto a rewritable CD and stashed it somewhere in the stack of other CDs I have stored in the deepest, darkest back part of my cabinet. Where data goes to die.
Then, I wrote one last status update, filled to the brim with my signature witty, honest playfulness, tinged with a drop of the overwhelming bitterness I can’t help but hold toward some of those I was friends with on Facebook. Which, to be honest…was one of the main reasons I finally decided to take “The Stand.”
On December 31st, 2013, I went through and deleted all of my older social network-like things. I ditched Twitter, Blogger, my Yahoo! account (the horror!), my YouTube, my Google+, my stupid Xanga account. The only thing I couldn’t get rid of was my WordPress (beloved) and Facebook. At the time, Facebook still held some sort of power over me–it had all the people I cared about, I worried for, and I wanted to keep track of, even if I didn’t or couldn’t talk to them. And another honest moment: family be damned. I have all their numbers, and if I don’t I can easily get them. I keep in touch with my family, and the “friends” I still (care to) consider “friends” are the same way.
It was just…one person I really kept Facebook for. But over the past few months, my reasons for my absurd attachment and the feelings firmly anchored to those reasons transformed into this…bitterness. At first it was painful, heartbreaking, and saddening.
Saying, “This is it, I’ve had enough,” ’cause like
We hadn’t seen each other in a month
When you said you needed space.
It hurt, but I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t say goodbye, couldn’t lose hope; after all, it is my middle name. “Just a little longer,” I kept telling myself. But then suddenly, a few weeks ago, I literally woke up and realized it didn’t hurt anymore. Instead I was filled with this silent, seething bitterness. I haven’t decided if I’m bitter toward you–something I vowed I would never be capable of, even as I imagined this exact scenario playing out over and over again–or myself, for either being blind enough to hold on or stupid enough to believe you were worth holding on to. Which. You still are.
It’s just that I’m not the one meant to hold on to you.
And yesterday I really realized that. It just…melted into my skin and permeated my being, blanketing my heart and wrapping itself around my head. “I love you enough to let you go, and I love myself more by being able to let go.”
There are still things that haunt me, like certain coffee shops, the movie theaters, and film with Tom Hanks in it, people who talk about Bill Watterson in front of me, and Taylor Swift’s “22″. Chemistry classes are still difficult to go through, the buildings surrounding them are hard to walk past, and sometimes I still swear I catch glimpses of your figure vanishing around a far-off corner. Always just out of reach, but still so close by. It’s miserable and magical. I still have dreams about you, and sometimes those dreams slip into nightmares. I can’t quite recall the velvety sound your voice anymore, or remember what it felt like to have the weight of your dark, warm eyes drilling into mine like a diamond drills into the Earth’s solid plates. I can still, however, remember the delicate but undoubtedly firm way you held yourself, and how having you standing by my side made me feel so stable and secure.
These things, with time, will eventually fade away. And, much like time, I might’ve been strong with you.
But because I was strong with you then, I’m stronger on my own now.